April 9 – Turn Your Back to the Forest

Baba Yaga hid her hatred in my heart
Pinned it in, sewed it shut
I can feel it moving, squirming
It’s eating me like she would eat children
All cooked up, hungry as sin

I am completely lost, but her wisdom
Sucks me down into the marshes
With mermaids at my heels
And kelpies slurping up my marrow
All drowned, murky with pain

These woods are way too deep
But the thought of finding truth
Of holding my own fate in my hands
Tempted me into the darkness
All direction gone, hope done

I look at my aged hands and wonder
Was I always here, was this always me
And the steam rises and the laughter erupts
Folk tales and nightmares
You cannot escape

“And your front to me”…

– Tegan Thuss

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December 21 – Gothic Woes

Are we in a waking dream, faded walls surround us as we walk on past some insignificant speck that we see in the corner of our eyes but forget in the next minute. Is it a nightmare vision, reaching out to grab us as we sleep all safe in our beds, with the sheets wrapping tight, chains to hold us down, to strangle us as we try to fight for air.

I cannot escape this horrifying moment, anxiety spilling like blood from the bones, skin scraping on nails sticking from floor boards. Eerie eyes are watching from the darkness and fingers seem to play some soft melody over my soaked flesh. “Help me” I scream into silence, quieted by fear stuck deep in my throat. I am gagging on my own pulse as it quickens to the sound of footsteps on the landing. My heartbeat hums and I feel it may burst from misuse, as my dreams merge with some semblance of reality; my bed sticking to me, my eyes luring themselves open with the promise of being free, my brain cascading against the fog that continues to encase me in a tomb of my own making. The sounds quicken, feet scurrying, hollow breathing thicker than oil coming floating in on the night air. I am feeding on my shouts of terror as they rise and fall in my throat, like toads croaking; too quiet, too quiet, no one will hear. Red sparks are looming out of the black ocean of the room, toes curl inward. There is a click, as though the lights would flicker on, but nothing happens; except for the moment in my mind when I see what it is, what it truly is, and for one peaceful second the terrified beating of my heart stops.

– Tegan Thuss 

December 12 – Difference Between Real and Pretend

Last night she was
All floating in a dream

With feet that soared
And smiles that shone

Nothing mattered
As the world stopped

And crystal skies
Drew wandering eyes

Last night she was
All drifting in a vision

With arms that grew
And cheeks that sang

Everything mattered
As the Earth spun mad

And misty water cried
As all the magic died

Last night she was
All trapped in a nightmare

With legs broken
And body chained

She didn’t matter
As the world kept turning

And floorboards held her hand
As she tried to understand

Last night she was
This morning she is
Awake at dawn
Clinging to fading memories

– Tegan Thuss